I always joke that if I ever write a sitcom, it will be called "Geneva, an everyday tale of expatriate folk." Only problem is, even if I just wrote the simple unalloyed truth of our daily lives no-one would believe it, because it is too bizarre.
As you will see from the predecessor post, life has been a bit rough here in the Spaceship over the last few hours. One of our neighbours caught up with us on a dog walk, and casually refused to do the obligatory francophone air kissing, "because I am on chemo." Turns out she has an advanced cancer of the lung, and metatheses. All discovered in the last week or two. She seemed remarkably calm, I would be a wreck in those circumstances. I wish her the best for what will be a tough trial. She has courage, I have to say, she showed us a photo of her wearing the wig she has bought for when her hair falls out. It was a shock to say the least.
Then Mrs Spaceship was talking to another good friend, giving advice on what to do about her daughter, who seems to have a significant depression, when the doorbell went and one of our neighbours came in. As Mrs Spaceship is a psychiatrist, and as far as I can tell, a good one, so many of the worried of the neighbourhood turn up looking for advice, which is fine, as being part of a village means giving as well as taking. So, classic presentation, she turns up looking nervous and out of sorts, and wants to speak to my wife. I could tell that it was a drive by emergency, so I offered her a glass of wine, and started to ask what was wrong. Then she started asking why we were spreading rumours about her getting divorced. (We do not gossip here in the Spaceship, the village is too small, and we know too much.) So I just thought bollocks to that, and told her to get out of my house. Very stressful exchange of views followed, just what I did not need. Anyway, we patched it up, but that's more than I wanted for a quiet Monday evening.
To add to this, the drivebyer then went to the one person whom we had mentioned it to, to ask if she knew if it was really the case that the couple in question were divorcing, and gave her a rough time as well, so the poor woman showed up on our doorstep in tears and we had to calm that down as well.
Then, just when life could not really seem to get more turbulent, a very good family friend who was at school with Mrs Spaceship called, and told us that a mutual friend had died. Alasteir Scott, RIP A talented and gifted man, whose life has been cut short.
I could do with less real life right now. It seems that as we hit middle age, (I am 44 at the time of writing,) for some people, the centre cannot hold.
"TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;"
Yeats.
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